


The Thin Line

by TheGingerAvenger



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, I'm a sucker for the villains to friends to lovers trope, M/M, Mind Control, Slow Burn, coldflash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGingerAvenger/pseuds/TheGingerAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Damien Darhk thinks the Scarlet Streak might be his answer to getting rid of the Arrow, Leonard Snart gets unwillingly roped into the mess and consequently learns just how much he's willing to risk to save Barry Allen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First foray into the Flash Fandom! Please note that this does take place after Season 2 Episode 9 of The Flash and Season 4 Episode 9 of Arrow and will have spoilers for the episodes leading up to those.
> 
> And more characters will be added to the tags as they appear.

The Celestial Deer café proved that it didn’t take much to ruin an item as necessary to human life as coffee. The overpriced drinks left a sticky-sweet aftertaste coating the tongue- though when a person’s been in jail for a few months, any coffee was good coffee. And while the drinks left much to be desired and the tinny music blaring over the speakers grated against his ears, the café had one useful aspect; it was strategically located across the street from the Central City Museum.

Leonard Snart eyed the building from one of the small outside tables, a cup of lukewarm coffee clutched between his fingers. He glanced at the large banner strung out across the top of the museum, announcing the new exhibit with the appropriate amount of enthusiasm and mystery required to attract the attention of citizens used to seeing people with superpowers. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. One would think living in this city would make people a little more cautious when discussing priceless (and apparently cursed if the banner was to be believed) jewelry. It was almost like they were asking to be robbed, and Len would hate to let them down.

_“There’s good in you, Snart.”_

He took a deep sip of coffee and gulped down the liquid without giving it too much time to sit in his mouth. The sweet taste still lingered on his tongue and his lip curled in disgust. His gaze dropped down from the banner to the road just as a cop car drove past. The same cop that’s been driving by since Len began his stake-out three hours ago.

_“It’s just a matter of time.”_

His fingers tightened around the cup, pressing small dents into the thin cardboard and he leaned forward in his seat, narrowed his eyes, and forced himself to focus. With the arrival of the priceless artifacts, the captain of the police no doubt upped the museum’s security, hence the cop that drove past every ten minutes. However, unless the cops have gotten better at swift shift changes, that ten-minute interval would stretch longer when the cop switched duty. Most likely resulting in a five to ten minute increase, he’ll have to check. Though that should be more than enough time for him to slip in and relieve the museum of their exhibit. It should also be a short enough time frame to give him that rush of adrenaline he hadn’t had in a while.

Not since Christmas Eve.

_“Well, you’re doing a lousy job of being a villain this week.”_

Len closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding the icy air in his lungs until it burned before releasing it in a cloud of steam. He forced Barry’s voice out of his mind and turned his thoughts instead to planning the heist. If he went before the museum closed that would mean no Mick- too risky to have the pyromaniac in a room full of civilians- and a higher chance of hurting any of the museum’s patrons. It would also mean the Flash would be too busy keeping civilians safe to provide much of a challenge. Both a pro and a con. Nighttime would mean-

A series of footsteps, the rustle of fabric, and the screech of a chair’s metal legs against concrete were all the warning Len got before someone settled into the chair across from him. Len opened his eyes, one eyebrow raised in question, and glanced at the newcomer. Part of him expected it to be Barry, with a look of righteous indignation splattered across his face, but the man lounging in the chair was a stranger.

“Well this place is very-“ The man’s eyes took in their surroundings, the small tables and chatting people, before moving back to Len, a smile spreading across his face. “Quaint.”

Though his muscles tensed and his fingers twitched towards the cold gun strapped to his thigh, Len stayed slouched in his chair, schooling his features into a look of boredom as he studied the man. Thin white hair, pale blue eyes, pale skin turned red by the bite of cold in the air, expensive looking suit. Not someone on the Santini’s payroll, unless they suddenly hired someone new. Didn’t look like a hit-man though.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Snart.” His voice was smooth, as collected and polished as his attire. So he did come from money; the fancy suit wasn’t just for show. “I’ve been reading up on some of your accomplishments and I have to say, I’m impressed.”

Len’s lips thinned into a sneer. “Always a pleasure to meet a fan,” he drawled, lifting his cup in a mock toast.

The man chuckled and leaned back in his seat, threading his fingers together over his stomach. “My name is Damien Darhk and my associates and I would like to offer you a job..”

He quirked an eyebrow, curiosity piquing. “Oh really?” His gaze flickered behind the man to the groups of chatting people taking up the other tables. Typically people offered him jobs in smoke-filled bars or dirty back alleys, voices low for fear of anyone eavesdropping, not in public places. Damien didn’t seem concerned that anyone would overhear them though.

“Your skills are ones that would be helpful in solving a particular problem I’m facing.” The smile never left Damien’s face, but something shifted, turned darker, his eyes narrowing a hair. “I’m offering you a chance to move up in the world, become part of something much larger than petty thievery.”

“And what would your grand offer be?”

Damien stared at him for a while, eyes cold and scrutinizing. “I need you to assist me in detaining the Flash.”

A flare of alarm sparked in his chest, quick and unexpected enough to squeeze the air from his lungs. Len squashed it down before it could show on his face. Most of the people who offer him jobs just want him to steal something, not someone and certainly not someone as prominent as Central City’s very own hero. He cocked his head to the side, calculating. “Detain? Not kill?”

“No. The Flash has certain qualities that I think would be helpful in dealing with a certain . . .” Damien trailed off, his lips curling in a scowl. “Thorn in my side.”

“And why would you think the Flash would be willing to help you?” Len smirked. “You don’t seem like the type he normally helps.”

_“Let me help you.”_

Len’s fingers tightened around the arms of the chair but Damien didn’t seem to notice, his smile thinning, cold and sharp. The movement turned the alarm in Len’s stomach to curling unease. “You shouldn’t worry about that. I can be very persuasive. This offer would be beneficial to you, Mr. Snart. Both financially and health wise.”

Len let his gaze drift away from Damien’s expectant face before moving back to Darhk. He tilted his head to the side. “Why me? There’re metahumans that would gladly help you hurt The Flash.”

“You’re more reliable. You may not have powers but I won’t have to worry about you killing the Flash instead of subduing him.” Damien’s eyes flickered down to Len’s leg, where the cold gun was strapped. “And you are specially equipped to stop him.”

“Is there a reason you and your associates can’t deal with this yourselves?”

“I need the suspicion to fall on someone else. Certain parties will get wind of this if it appears that I had a hand in the kidnapping.”

 _Kidnapping._ Len’s bristled at the word. Stealing objects was one thing, stealing _a person_ was an entirely different matter, one that Len found disgusting. “So I’ll take the blame for it.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Snart. My associates and I will protect you and anyone you may care about.” Damien’s eyes narrowed, annoyance turning his words sharp. “Now what is your answer?”

Len unclenched his fingers from around the chair and leaned back in his seat, let his gaze wander around the café, did his best to give off the appearance of considering Darhk’s offer. He already knew what his answer would be. Knew it with a surety that shocked and unsettled him. He turned his attention back to Damien and gave him a grin. “I think I’ll have to pass.”

The calm mask on Damien’s face cracked. It was brief, just a flash, but Len’s eyes were quick enough to notice the rage that burned in Darhk’s eyes, to notice the way his hands tightened, fingers curling into fists, knuckles white and straining, before the smile was back, bared teeth a thinly veiled threat. “You seem rather quick to come to that decision.”

Len shrugged a shoulder. “There’s nothing in it for me. The Flash may be a nuisance but he does a good job of keeping the super-powered crazies from taking over the city. Take him out of the equation and the whole city dissolves into chaos.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “I’m not a fan of chaos. It’s bad for business.”

“Ah yes. Bad for business,” Damien said, a mocking tone carrying the words. “That must be why you’re reluctant, and not because of the relationship you two must have.”

Len stilled, muscles tensing, before he forced his shoulders to relax. “Relationship?” A bit of condescension leaked into his voice.

“I know a lot more than you seem to realize, Snart.” Damien leaned back in the chair, unperturbed. “I’ve had my people look into a lot of the cases revolving around the Flash. He seems to suffer from the same ideology of other vigilantes,” he said, lips curling around the word. “What with going after every criminal, no matter how small.” His eyes flashed with something too close to victory to sit well with Len. “Expect for you.”

Len remained silent, fingers tightening around his cup.

“See, at first he did. You would steal something or kidnap someone and he would race off to stop you, just like any other criminal. Until a certain point. After that, you would continue to steal and the Flash wouldn’t show.” Damien’s head tilted to the side, a smile curling his lips. “Which makes me think you have some kind of leverage on the speedster.”

Len narrowed his eyes. “And yet, despite this supposed leverage, he still threw me in prison.”

Damien shrugged, lifting his hands in a spread-fingered gesture. “Well, you did kill someone and that’s a big no-no for most vigilantes.” He grinned. “Patricide. Those cases are always interesting.”

“Are you going somewhere with this?” It came out more of a growl than Len intended.

“I am, actually. Learn some patience. While I was researching you and the Flash, I happened to notice a certain aspect of your personality.”

“And what was that?”

“You strike me as the type of person that never does a thing without purpose. That type of meticulousness is a quality I can admire. However, it does make me a little curious to know why,” he paused and made a sweeping gesture with his arms, taking in the city with the movement. “Out of all the people in Central City, you chose to kidnap Caitlin Snow, Francisco Ramon and his brother?”

Ice buried itself in his stomach. He shrugged. “They’re civilians and the Flash will be drawn out of hiding whenever a civilian is in danger. Besides, Ramon was the one who first built the cold gun and I needed his expertise.” He glared at Damien. “But I’m sure your research told you that.”

“Of course.” The smile didn’t leave Darhk’s face. If anything, it widened. “But do you not find it odd that both of them just happen to have worked at Star Labs.”

The ice turned into a boulder. “Coincidence.”

Damien’s smile sharpened into a grin of triumph, of _knowledge_ , and it made Len’s stomach clench, made his fingers itch for his gun. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Mr. Snart.”

Len leaned back in his seat. “Do you have a point to make somewhere?” He drawled.

Damien raised an eyebrow, lips quirking in amusement condescending enough to make Len’s skin bristle. “Why? Is there somewhere you need to be, Mr. Snart?”

He allowed his lips to thin into a smirk. “Maybe.”

Damien smiled. “Well then, I just have one more point to mention. Because, you see, what strikes me even more about this scenario is that Star Labs is now the property of a Mr. Bartholomew Allen. The very same Mr. Allen who came to visit you when you were first incarcerated. Now tell me,” Darhk said as he leaned forward, eyes sparking with the eagerness of someone watching a trap close around their prey. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why would the CCPD’s very own CSI, owner of the building where two of the people you kidnapped used to work, take the time to come visit you?”

“How should I know?” Len shrugged. “Sentimentality? He talked about how his dad used to be in prison.” He tilted his head and scoffed.  “He mentioned that he thought he could make me see the light.”

Damien huffed. “How . . .noble of him.”

“It was a waste of time. Just like this is starting to be.”

Damien grinned and stood, the movement swift and clean. Len felt the urge to stand too, just so Darhk wasn’t looming over him, but he forced the urge down and stared up at the man. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Snart. It was most enlightening.” Damien leaned down, close enough to Len that Len could smell the mint on the other man’s breath. Could see the anger still lurking in the pale blue eyes. “You have potential, Snart, despite your lack of judgement when it comes to choosing who’s side to be on. Stay out of my way, or you, your pyromaniac friend, and your sister will regret it.”

A growl rumbled in the back of his throat, anger and worry twisting in him at the mention of his sister. He stood up, lips peeling back in a snarl, hand reaching for the cold gun and a list of threats rising to the tip of his tongue, but Damien was already moving away, already disappearing into the crowd of shoppers.

Len watched, fingers curling into fists tight enough to make his knuckles ache. He knew he could follow Darhk, trail him back to wherever he was hiding and finish him off. He also knew that he knew nothing about the man and rushing into a fight without some form of a plan was a good way to get himself killed.

He took a deep breath, reeled in the roiling anger, and turned it into something he could use. An anger that was cold and patient. He tossed the coffee out into the trash and stepped onto the sidewalk, all thoughts of the heist gone from his mind. All the way back to the safe house he told himself that the worry, the fury, twisting his stomach was solely because Darhk mentioned Lisa. That it wasn’t also because of Barry Allen and his identity. The kid could take care of himself. He had a whole team of people he could rely on. He could take care of himself.

Len repeated the words in his head like a mantra, clinging to them whenever the worry started to tie his stomach in knots, and by the time he made it back to the safe house, he almost believed them.

. . .

Barry hated hospitals. Never liked the sharp smell of disinfectant that lingered in the hallways. Never liked the cacophony of shrill _beeps_ and harsh coughs and hushed whispers. Never liked the sense of helplessness the gripped him, the thought that there was nothing he could do to help. Even as a kid he had always felt the desire, the need, to stick his head into every patient’s room to say hello, ask if they needed anything, to keep them company, especially if they had no one.

Being in Felicity’s room, though, didn’t feel like being in a hospital.

Flowers and balloons, the happy bright kind that sing songs whenever someone hit them (much to Barry’s delight and Oliver’s dismay) fought with an army of get well cards for every available inch of the room. Lyla and Thea were huddled in one of the corners, hours deep in a tense card game broken only by shouts of laughter and joking (most of the time) accusations of cheating. Laurel was watching Diggle croon over his child and listening as the man recounted every cute thing the kid had done to anyone who would listen. Detective Lance and Felicity’s mother had been banished to the hallway after mistakenly kissing in front of their daughter (Oliver had to stop Felicity from hitting the emergency button attached to the side of her bed, even though she had kept insisting that she was literally dying and oh gosh why did they have to do that in front of her?). Even being stuck in the hallway, their giddy laughter and truly horrible flirting filtered into the room, causing Felicity to send disgusted looks at the door until she finally told them to leave.

Barry leaned against the wall and watched as Felicity tried to convince Oliver to use his ninja skills to bring her some actual food, drinking in the happy atmosphere of the room. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that they were all in the Arrow Cave. Not a hospital room. That Felicity hadn’t undergone surgery to remove a bullet from her gut. That Felicity hadn’t almost _died_. That maybe he could have stopped it, if he had just paid more attention to the news, focused more on what was going on in Star City like any good friend would have done. If he had just been smarter and faster and done away with Jesse and Mardon quicker if he had just-

A hand landed on his shoulder, jerking him out of that particular train of thought. He jolted off the wall as his eyes snapped open to see Oliver staring at him with that crease between his brows he only got when he was worried. Or concerned. Or baffled. Now that Barry thought about it, Oliver gave him that creased eyebrow look a lot.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked, voice low and yeah, that was definitely the concerned eyebrow crease.

Barry forced his lips to spread into a wide smile and tried to ignore the knot in his stomach and the voices screaming _your fault_ in his head. “Uh yeah! Of course! Just, you know. . .it’s been a long month.”

Oliver nodded his head and ran a hand down his face as he leaned against the wall beside Barry. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It has.”

Barry stared at him from the corner of his eye, taking in the dark circles, ragged stubble, and the almost palpable weariness and rage that was radiating off the man. “Still haven’t heard anything about Darhk?” He asked.

Oliver frowned. “No. He’s been quiet for the past few weeks.” His glanced at Felicity and his expression darkened. “But I’ll find him and make him pay.”

Barry placed a hand on Oliver’s shoulder before he could convince himself not to, feeling just how tense the other man was. “You know I’m here for you, if you ever want my help, right Oliver?” He asked and gave Oliver’s shoulder a small squeeze, trying to portray just how sincere he was. “I’ll help.”

Some of the tension in Oliver’s shoulders melted, though the anger still lingered behind. “I know.” He glanced at Barry. “And you know I’m always willing to help with. . . “ He shook his head and waved his hand, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. “Whatever weird stuff is going on in Central City.”

“Weird stuff?” Barry laughed and let his hand fall from Oliver’s shoulder. “Hold on, weren’t you guys the ones who brought someone back from the dead? And you’re saying what we do is weird?”

“Oh and then went on a mission to rescue her soul.” Felicity pipped up from the bed. “Can’t forget that part, ‘cause I certainly won’t.” She shuddered and mumbled something about “super creepy” before waving a hand at Barry. “Can you come over here for a second?”

Barry grinned at Oliver before pushing himself off the wall and heading towards Felicity’s bed, smacking one of the balloons on his way just to get on Oliver’s nerves. “Hey, Felicity. What’s u-“ His words were cut off with a yelp when Felicity smacked his arm. He clutched his forearm defensively, taking a step back, and eyed Felicity with a mixture of alarm and confusion. “What was that for?”

She pointed a finger at him and she really shouldn’t look so threatening when she’s in a hospital bed. “Stop it.”

Barry frowned at her. “Stop what?”

“Stop feeling guilty. You’ve got that same look on your face that Oliver gets when he starts to think that everything’s his fault. Honestly, it’s like a requirement for heroes or something.” Her face softened, voice losing the angry tone. “Seriously, Barry, the only person to blame for what happened is Darhk.”

Barry blinked at her before nodding his head, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Yeah, of course, I know that.” He tried to put as much conviction into his voice as possible, tried to hide the way the guilt still twisted his stomach.

From the way Felicity was frowning at him, he must not have been as convincing as he had hoped. “You’d better,” she said. “’cause if you don’t I’ll track you down and smack you until you stop.”

Barry chuckled and nodded his head as his phone buzzed in his pocket. And then buzzed again. And again. And again. Which typically was the signal that a very excited, or frantic, Cisco was texting him sentence by sentence. “Okay, I will,” he said, digging the phone out of his back pocket and glancing at the messages, glad that he had an excuse to look at something other than Felicity’s scrutinizing stare.

            _Dude_

            _You gotta get back_

_Like right now_

_Harry and Jay got into fight_

_Again_

_Seriously_

_I think Harry might be plotting to kill Jay_

_He’s been messing with something at his desk all day_

_I think it might be poison_

_Oh and Rainbow Raider’s robbing a bank_

“Dude.” Barry closed his eyes and groaned, making a mental note to talk to Cisco about what he led with when sending people urgent texts.

“Something wrong?” Felicity asked.

Barry shook his head. “Just typical weird stuff. It’s been fun guys, but I gotta go.” He waved his phone. “Duty calls.” He sped off as Oliver was turning towards him and the others looked up to say goodbye, Felicity’s “be careful” trailing behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update is a bit late. School and life kept getting in the way. Thanks for all the comments/kudos/bookmarks! I appreciate every single one and I'm glad you guys like it so far!

It didn’t take long to find information on Damien Darhk. A simple google searched revealed pages of headlines from Star City newspapers. Articles angrily labeling the man as the leader of the so-called ghosts, the shadowy figure orchestrating the downfall of the once great city. Even bits of Oliver Queen’s speech made it into the search; an emotional call for the city to band together in this dark time, to unite and fight the monster threatening their once bright city. It was all very dramatic and heartfelt.

Oliver Queen and Barry Allen should meet. Together they could write inspirational and hopeful speeches about the good in people.

Len grunted and scrolled down the screen, narrowed eyes skimming through the other headlines. He never paid much attention to what happened outside of Central, unless he was planning a heist in a different city, but he knew Star City was the Green Arrow’s turf. The hero must be the “thorn” Damien was referring to. Len had heard stories about the vigilante, the ruthlessness and cold-blooded killings, how he was supposedly turning over a new leaf. Len didn’t care how dangerous the man might or might not be. He would gladly have a pointed conversation with Robin Hood about keeping his nemesis in his own damn city.

He leaned back in his seat and drummed his fingers against the wooden desk, brow furrowed. There were a few gaps in the articles, blank spots that were left forgotten and empty. Damien might have control over an entire army of super-soldiers but that didn’t necessarily explain how he’d managed to elude capture and stay out of the Arrow’s crosshairs. Not only that, but it seemed as if Damien had appeared on the face of the earth the moment Mr. Queen outed him as the city’s enemy just a few weeks ago. No matter how hard Len searched, he couldn’t find a scrap of evidence showing what Damien had been doing before coming to Star City. There was no mention of a childhood, or family, or where he was from. It was like he hadn’t existed.

Though now that he at least had some information, it was just a matter of deciding what to do with it. He could approach this like any other job, maybe try to find some form of payment to extract. But the first rule of working a job was to make sure you didn’t have any emotional attachments.

And, like all of his other rules, Barry Allen had found a way to complicate that.

Len frowned. The kid was . . .a problem. Len had always been meticulous when gathering information; response times, security features, employee records. It had been the same with the Flash once he had discovered the kid’s identity. But figuring out response times was nothing compared to unearthing facts about a person. That proved to be more complicated. Granted, he could generally distance himself from the information he learned about a target. Random facts on a piece of paper, snippets from the internet, those were all things he could remove from a person. Associate them with the target only when necessary. Date of birth, family history, pieces of a childhood; all just facts and numbers in an equation. Clean, clear, and straightforward.

But then the pile of facts and numbers that made up Barry Allen had to stick his nose in where it didn’t belong. He had to help Len, had to pull a heist with him and Lewis to save Lisa. And then those facts and numbers got twisted up in the knowledge that the Flash, that Barry Allen, had a smile that lit up his entire face. That he was a quick thinker but incredibly clumsy. That he would blush a vibrant red. That he had a cinematic idea of what it meant to be a criminal and smiled far too often and far too widely to be considered one.

But the thing that baffled Len the most was how Barry cared a ridiculous amount about other people, and not just innocent civilians. He had spent the entire heist trying to figure out a motive, some potential leverage, some reason for why Allen had been willing to risk so much to help him and Lisa. Even after they had double crossed him at Ferris Air. Even after Len had almost killed him, had kidnapped his friends. He had thought the kid would tell Len that Len owed him one when Barry visited him in prison. But no. The kid had the audacity to tell Len that he thought there was good in him. And so Len added naivety and stupid unearned, blind trust to the list of increasingly complicated facts that was now Barry Allen.

The Flash was a challenge. Barry Allen was a problem.

Len scowled, his reflection in the dark computer screen mirroring his expression. He was being foolish. Sentimental. Worry had been twisting his gut into knots since his meeting with Darhk and he didn’t like it. Didn’t _need_ it. He owed the Flash nothing. He had paid his debt when he warned Barry about Mardon and Jesse. The only reason he was considering helping the hero now was because Damien had threatened his family. He wasn’t doing it out of some emotional attachment.

This was a job, just like any other. Nothing more, nothing less.

He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over the top of his head. He would just warn the Flash, like he did before. Tip him and his team off to what Darhk was planning and hopefully throw a wrench in the man’s plans and then leave and let the heroes deal with their problems. He didn’t need to stay around and give Barry any more ideas about heroics or the “good” in him.

The plan was good. Clean, clear, straightforward.

But a part of him knew that Barry Allen would find some way to screw it up.

.

Everything _ached_. His shoulder. His wrist. His ribs. His ego.

Caitlin huffed and paused in her examination to send him an exasperated look, hands hovering over his forearm and one eyebrow raised. “You know,” she said. “This would go a lot faster if you would stop moaning.”

“Sorry,” Barry grumbled as he shifted slightly on the edge of the med bed. “I’ll try to contain my agony.”

Caitlin shook her head but he could still see the small smile curling her lips, a movement that diminished the worry that had lingered in her eyes since he’d limped into the cortex. Barry watched as she continued working, her lips turned in a frown of concentration, and tried not to think about how now she always looked worried when he got hurt, even when it was nothing but a few bruises. How she always looked so scared, ever since that fight with Zoom. . .

Cisco’s chuckles cut off his thoughts and drew his attention away from Caitlin. The other man stood a few feet away from the bed, a lollipop stuck in his mouth. He pulled the candy out with a loud _pop_ and grinned at Barry. “Dude, you got your ass handed to you by an old lady.”

Barry leveled a halfhearted glare at Cisco. “Hey, it was a group of old ladies and besides, what was I supposed to do? Fight them off?” He grunted when Cisco’s grin just widened. “I’m pretty sure fighting old people goes against the hero code.”

Really, taking a few hits from a couple of canes and some surprisingly heavy purses had been just fine and dandy. No, the problems started when the group of ex-marines decided to join in on the fun. All the speed in the world didn’t do him much good when five muscular men tackled him from behind.

Caitlin poked his wrist, eliciting a small shockwave of pain that raced up his arm, and Barry hissed. She winced in sympathy. “You have a broken wrist as well as some bruising, but nothing serious and nothing that won’t heal in a few hours. I just need to set it.”

Barry sighed and nodded his head, gritting his teeth against the aching throb as Caitlin set about wrapping his wrist. “Lucky me.”

He tried not to let any bitterness seep into his voice. Bivolo had managed to use the chaos to escape with the cash, what with Barry being too concerned trying to stop the group of innocent civilians from mauling each other and him to pay attention to the metahuman. Who knew where the other man was now? Or what else he might be planning on doing and who he might end up hurting in the process? The speed-force surged in him, sparking along with his frustration and anger, tingling across his skin and urging him to move, to _do something_.

“We have to find a quicker way to snap people out of Bivolo’s control,” he said when Caitlin finished. “I can’t catch him if I have to stop his victims too.”

Cisco nodded and snapped his fingers. “I’m already way ahead of you. I’ve got a prototype now that’ll be easier to carry and you could show to crowds of people instead of individually. That should help anyone Rainbow Raider whammies.”

“Rainbow Raider?”

Barry glanced up at the voice to see Jay standing in the doorway, a bemused twist to his lips.

“Oh, he’s a metahuman who whammies people into feeling certain emotions,” Cisco explained. “It’s actually really cool-“ His voice died off when Caitlin shot him an angry look. “Okay, well, it would be cool if he wasn’t evil.”

“He seems to like making people angry,” Barry added as he stood up from the bed. He stretched, feeling some of the aches and pains begin to fade already. “And using them as a distraction while he runs away with whatever he steals.”

Jay’s eyebrows rose. “Huh, interesting.” He stepped into the room, moving closer to Caitlin and sharing a smile with the woman before turning his attention back to Barry. “I don’t think we have anyone who can do that on Earth-2,” he said, his lips taking on an apologetic twist. “So I’m not sure how much help I can be.”

“I’m sure with your added expertise we’ll be able to figure out something to stop Rainbow Raider,” Caitlin spoke, voice soft, as she placed a hand on Jay’s arm.

“And I would like to take this moment to make sure everyone in this building knows that Caitlin came up with that name,” Cisco said. “Not me.”

Barry shook his head, a soft chuckle brushing past his lips, while Caitlin look insulted.

“I thought it was a good name,” she muttered.

Jay grinned at her. “I think it’s just fine.”

Cisco rolled his eyes and snorted. “Of course you would.”

“Okay so what’s the first step in tracking Bivolo down?” Barry asked, dragging the conversation back on topic as a blush dusted across Caitlin's cheeks.

“Your first step is to do nothing.”

The raspy voice dragged Barry’s attention back to the doorway as Harry stormed in. The man looked _spent_. Dark circles crouched under bloodshot eyes, hair disheveled and shoulders stooped under an unseen burden. He looked on edge, pulled tight and thin, as if one wrong word would snap him in half.

Barry paused, momentarily thrown back by how much older Harry looked, before he swallowed, brow furrowing, and said, “What do you mean?”

“None of you should be concerned with this Rainbow . . .whatever,” Harry snapped, voice rough. He turned on Barry, jabbing a finger at him, lips curled in a snarl. “ _You_ should be training more, getting faster, so you can take down Zoom and all of you should be finding ways to help him, not wasting your time chasing other metahumans.”

Barry frowned at him. “I’m not going to stop protecting this city just so I can take down Zoom, Harry,” he said, setting his jaw when Harry glared at him. “I can’t let all the other metahumans just do whatever they want.”

Jay crossed his arms and leveled a stern looked at Harry. “He’s right,” he said.

“Of course you would say that,” Harry scoffed, the sound harsh and broken. “That’s exactly what you did. You split your attention between Zoom and all the other insignificant metahumans and look where it got you,” he hissed. “Keep it up and Barry’s going to end up just like you.”

“And look at what happened when he followed _your_ advice,” Jay growled.

“How about we don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Barry snapped. The two men turned to look at him, Jay with some apology underneath the anger and Harry looking . . .peeved and worn-out. “I’ll train to get faster but I will not let anyone else terrorize innocent people. That’s final.”

“Fine, pay more attention to the metahuamns and get everyone killed,” Harry snarled. “If you need me, I’ll actually be working on a way to stop Zoom.” With one final glare, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the cortex.

Barry frowned after him, worry joining the anger coiling in his chest. He looked at Jay. “What’s up with him?”

Jay shook his head and shrugged. “He’s been on edge for days now.”

“Well it can’t be easy knowing that Zoom still has his daughter,” Caitlin said.

Barry dragged a hand through his hair, clenching his jaw. Not for the first time, he wished they could figure out where Zoom was holding Harry’s daughter and save her before Zoom had a chance to hurt her. And maybe Harry was right, maybe he should pay more attention to Zoom. Maybe he should just let the metahuman taskforce deal with all the others. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. But the taskforce was nowhere close to being ready to take on any metahumans, at least not without some help. He sighed, letting his arm drop back to his side, and looked at Cisco. “We need to find Bivolo.”

Cisco plopped down in one of the chairs and shrugged. “I’ve got no idea how to track him. I mean, we might just have to wait until he attacks some other place to find him.”

Caitlin turned to Barry, biting on her bottom lip, head tilted to the side and brow furrowed. “Do you think he might remember that he was locked up in Star Labs? In the pipeline? I mean, I know he was unconscious when we dragged him in and when we let them out but . . .do you think he, or any of the other metahumans, might come back?”

Cisco shook his head before Barry could answer and Barry could have sworn Cisco puffed his chest out. “Don’t worry about it, Caitlin. Even if they do come back, I’ve upped the security. No one’s getting in here without my say-so.”

“Are you sure about that?”

The drawling voice, already so familiar, snapped Barry’s attention to the doorway, shock coursing through him at the sight of Leonard Snart leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, a smirk planted on his face.

Cisco let out a loud shriek, jumping out of the chair and almost tumbling over the desk in surprise. He placed a hand over his heart, heaving in great gulps of air. “What the _hell_ dude?!”

Barry took a step forward, trying to position himself between Snart and the others. “What are you doing here, Snart?” He meant it to come out threatening, but it sounded more curious than worried. He highly doubted Snart was here to fight them. It wasn’t exactly his style.

Len glanced down at his hands as if his fingernails were fascinating. “My, my, Barry, that’s no way to greet a guest.” The sardonic and smug look dimmed when he looked up at Barry, replaced with something serious enough for Barry’s stomach to knot. He pushed himself off the doorframe and sighed. “I’ve got some information you might find interesting.”

“Oh yeah?” Cisco snorted, his voice still shaky. “Information on what?”

Snart didn’t bother to glance at Cisco, keeping his gaze locked onto Barry. “Information on Damien Darhk and why he’s come to Central.”

“Oh,” Cisco muttered. “Okay, alright then, that could actually be useful.”

“And why should we trust you?” Caitlin said, arms crossed and gaze suspicious.

Snart shrugged a shoulder. “You shouldn’t.”

Barry crossed his arms over his chest, equal parts concerned and confused. Snart was here of his own free will, offering information, which had to mean there was some kind of catch. Barry frowned at the other man, trying to determine if this was some kind of joke, a plot to keep them distracted while Snart pulled off some elaborate heist. But Snart looked serious and while Ollie hadn’t told him much about Darhk, Barry knew enough to know Damien wasn’t someone to mess around with.

After a long pause, Barry nodded his head. “Fine, then tell us what you know. And Cisco?”

“Yeah?”

Barry watched as Snart stepped into the cortex, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and prayed that the man could be trusted. “Call the Arrow.”

.

Damien never liked people. He enjoyed manipulating them, moving them like pawns into their proper places. Enjoyed it when they fell into line and did as they were told. He found it mildly amusing when they considered their actions to be their own, or when they thought they could stop him. Could stop what was coming. But after a long lifetime of watching people fight tooth and nail, watching people like Oliver Queen and the Green Arrow refuse to let a new world grow from the ashes of the old, he’s mostly found people to be tiring, bothersome, and downright annoying. As irritating and imbecilic as a swarm of gnats.

And when it came to those who considered themselves his superiors. . .he found that dislike grew tenfold. Especially when they questioned his actions.

The person they sent to “check” on him, a woman with thin features and a severe bun balanced on the top of her head, stared at him with one eyebrow raised; a teacher waiting for the student to explain why he blew up the class frog. “Why go on with this charade? Why not focus on more pressing matters?”

Damien turned to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows. They were meeting in the empty office of some CEO of one of the many sham companies owned by the H.I.V.E. The type of well-to-do companies that the rich trip over themselves throwing money at. From this height, he could see most of Central City spread out below. “Because the Green Arrow has a tendency to stick his nose in those pressing matters. This will provide an ample distraction for the vigilante.”

Her reflection in the mirror didn’t look convinced, lips pressed into a thin line. Damien resisted the urge to sigh and turned around, holding his arms out and putting on his most charming and convincing smile. “It’s a win-win situation. Either the Flash kills the Arrow or the Arrow kills the Flash. His friend. The Arrow might be ruthless but that. . .” He trailed off and ran his fingers across the top of the CEO’s desk, thoughts falling back to a time long ago. “Not many can easily kill someone they considered a friend.”

“And what exactly will this accomplish?” Her sharp voice dragged him away from the memories tickling the edge of his mind.

Damien’s fingers clenched. He could still feel the phantom stings of the arrows in his chest, could still taste the hastily whispered spell that saved his life. The Green Arrow had gotten close, closer than anyone has in decades, and it filled him with a splintering rage. “It will show the Green Arrow what happens when you get in my way. It will show him that I will destroy everything he holds dear until there’s nothing left. And, should the Arrow fail in destroying the Flash, we’ll have a metahuman at our disposal, ready to do our will.” He looked up at her, lips thinning into a smile. “Like I said, a win-win situation.”

The woman tilted her head, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “If you think this will distract the Arrow long enough to proceed with our plans then. . .fine. Just remember, Damien, your main objective isn’t to kill the Arrow. Don’t like this get personal.”

Damien nodded his head in farewell. He turned and stared out of the window as the woman left, the _clicks_ of her heels against the polished floor echoing around the office. His chest throbbed, the ghost of arrows, as his eyes searched the streets below for a streak of lightning. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered.

 


End file.
